Cycle
by ModdieMod
Summary: It never ends, and that's okay.


"I can work... I can work.."

The three words were like a _desperate_ mantra, frantic and pleading, almost inaudible in the stifling emptiness of the white, sterile room. No one heard him, but the Elsen continued to mumble feverishly to himself as his sore fingers flew across the keyboard, almost unconsciously at this point. He wasn't sure _who_ he was trying to convince anymore.

But the words would block out the throbbing that was slowly starting at the back of his skull.

His dark eyes reflected only the screen, with its flashing numbers and important symbols, his brow knit slightly as perspiration gathered on his forehead.

 _"I can work,"_ he muttered, lips tight.

His fingers gave a sharp twitch, and his breath hitched at the mistake that suddenly appeared on the monitor. The Elsen frantically tried backspacing and continuing, his heart leaping into his throat, the bruises under his eyes becoming more apparent with his growing stress. He couldn't _afford_ to make any mistakes.

" _No_ , no, I can work, I can work.. I can _work_.."

Nothing but deafening emptiness met his words, but to the Elsen, it seemed like there were a _thousand_ voices pressuring, demanding, yelling, _pleading_ , calling his name, urging him _onward_ with frenzied fervor...

The pallid skin around his collar began to flush, the blush slowly creeping up his cheeks to envelop the rest of his face as time passed. His fingers' movements became jerky and stumbling as his limbs grew stiffer and stiffer, his breathing quickening as his chest constricted.

"I can work, I can work, _I can work._ "

He was practically _choking_ out the words now, lip quivering as he did so, sweat trickling down his temple. His shirt felt too tight, and his fingers were tingling painfully. The Elsen's heart beat furiously as his lungs strained, throat convulsing in silent agony, begging the universe for _just one more breath_.

His eyelids fluttered, the corners of his vision clouding, blurring, and finally starting to taint with _black_. The corners of his lips twitched, and he shivered like a flu patient, his fingers blindly slamming against the keys at this point.

"I c-can.. hhhh... I-I _can_... _hhhhh_..I.."

The next time his lips parted, he let out a stomach curdling shriek that made the walls _rattle_ , black fluid starting to ooze from his bloodshot eyes and drip from his nose. He threw his head back as his unholy screaming continued, arms slumping to his sides as the veins in his hands darkened and burst with the substance as well.

Thick black sludge splattered his tie and his white shirt, sending flecks onto the computer monitor as well. His neck was gone, as well as his head, his face..

All replaced by gushing, ebony streams. The white walls were stained with his innards, and the morbid gurgling seemed to go on for an eternity until it finally started to come to a sluggish stop. Once more, silence reigned the empty office.

* * *

"Mmmmngg.."

A groan pierced the pristine, white silence, and a lone Elsen's eyes slowly fluttered open. The world eventually came into focus, and he found that he was staring at the ceiling to his workspace, the white paint dotted with faint black. His back ached, and his neck felt sore, as if he hadn't moved in ages.

 _Did I fall asleep?_... _What_...?

This was _unacceptable_! Falling asleep in his chair? The mere _thought_ of it was a sin. No way! There was no time for sleep when there was so much work to be done! He'd make up for it by working twice as hard.

Shaking his head rapidly, the Elsen sat up, rubbing at his face and giving a sniffle- and then a look of confusion crossed his features. What in the _world_? He rubbed at his nose and his hand came back stained with small black drops. What was _that_?

...Well, as long as it didn't keep him from working, it didn't matter, did it? Rolling his shoulders and regaining his erect posture, he brushed off his stained shirt and fixed his tie, leaning in and letting his smeared fingers fly over the keys once more. Wrinkled clothing was a thing to frown at, but the cleanliness of one's shirt didn't matter when there were more important things at stake. Like missed work, in this case.

It was as if he didn't notice the black crust around his eyes, or the stain lines around his nails, or how his lip was split. He turned a blind eye to the way his hair was tousled, and at the black puddle underneath his chair.

"I can work," he chirped hoarsely.

* * *

 **This is kinda crappy, and a vent piece to express my feelings. Here, take it.**


End file.
